


the king and his knight.

by ogahta



Series: royalty. [1]
Category: Blue Lock (Manga)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Feelings Realization, Friendship, Kunigami is everyone's support, M/M, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, a ship that is so rare i almost ripped my hair out, but now it's everyone's turn to be his support, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogahta/pseuds/ogahta
Summary: As spring blooms around the corner, so does his relationship with Barou.
Relationships: (past) Original Character/Kunigami Rensuke, Barou Shouei & Team Z, Barou Shouei/Kunigami Rensuke
Series: royalty. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686292
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	the king and his knight.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyMarshmallow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMarshmallow/gifts).



“It’s okay to make mistakes. Some people will fall in love with the wrong people sometimes, and that’s alright,” his mother says one day when Kunigami returns home with his heart broken by a guy he wasted two months of his life on when he could have focused on better things. 

Rensuke Kunigami is a man who has so much love to give; a man who is the epitome of the sun in everyone’s life — radiant and warm, but still scorching hot to be close to and too bright for anyone to stare at for a long period of time. Kunigami has admirers, there is no doubt, but none of them is brave enough to take a step forward and ask for his hand; aside for one man.

Kunigami is so rich with love, Toushirou Kentarou is worth to give those to, but even in every relationship there are flaws; Kentarou is far from a vicious individual, but he’s violent in his own ways — his friends have voiced out their concerns but Kunigami is so blinded by love that he didn’t realise the truth behind their words. He brushes off their worries, he’s given a feeling and he should have listened, and now with the way his heart has been torn into pieces, it has been too late to realise. It starts off innocent with a disastrous end. 

He still walks out of the door with a smile but it is not the same anymore; those who are close to him can differentiate between a warm and genuine smile to a crooked and broken half-hearted simper. Kunigami is not the same anymore. “Move on,” they say, and he agrees, but it’s not as easy as said. He’s broken, the sun shielded by a grey cloud — and everything is an eternal hurricane of emotions. It was only two months, but to him, it feels like forever. They click so well, so why did he find Kentarou in bed with another person?

The grey cloud looms over the street, hazel jewels reflecting off the falling droplets from the sky. Each raindrop is a kaleidoscope, if only he could see more closely. He wonders how it would be to stop time, to suspend this watery gift of heaven and peek through each one. Perhaps it would be fun to sit inside those raindrops and take that gravity propelled ride to the earth. He watches on as each rain beads upon the ground, washing each of his outstretched fingers. 

“Oi,” comes a baritone voice from beside him and Kunigami blinks in surprise, snapping out of his own little daydream. A man stands beside him, a hand outstretched and holding out a steaming cup of what he could smell, above the petrichor of the rain, the freshly brewed hot chocolate from the little opening on the top of the cup’s cover. “It’s cold to stand out here in the rain.”

Kunigami does not even realise that his cardigan had turned into a deeper, more rocky hue, now aware of the weight around his shoulders; when did this heavy coat come from? Once again, the styrofoam cup is pushed into his vision once more, right under his nose — and now that it’s up close to his nose, he takes a huge whiff of the warm beverage. Even just for a little bit, he can feel the tension in his shoulders leaves. “...What for?” he questions, now oculars focusing on the male in front of him. The looming figure of Barou Shouei stands before him, blocking the path of the raindrops with an umbrella above him. Oh, that’s why it stops all of a sudden.

Barou does not say more than a grunt, pushing it forward once again until Kunigami takes the offered beverage. “You are going to get sick,” he explains. The warmth of the hot chocolate radiates off the surface of the styrofoam cup and brings the colour in his hands back, and Kunigami stares down at the cover. “Come on, my house is nearby.” When Kunigami does not make a move to stand up, Barou clicks his tongue with something akin to annoyance and sits on the wet bench beside him, not at all minding how water immediately seeps into the fabric of his trousers, causing his skin to uncomfortably stick against the material. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

The recipient is silent for a while, then he speaks up, “Just needed to get away.” That is not the whole truth but it is still far from a lie; he’s just not in the mood to talk about the heavy feeling set in his heart, the way his guts twisted painfully and the way his shoulders sagged with the weight of the world. “Too much in my mind.” And not to mention the way his mind seems not to shut up, no matter how hard he tries to shut the useless thoughts and the ‘what if’s out, it will always be full of something.

“I know how it is.” When Barou speaks up again, Kunigami takes a small tentative sip of the offered drink, relishing in the way the sweetness blooms in his taste bud. He can taste a tinge of syrup within the chocolate — is it caramel? “Do you like it?” 

Kunigami blinks, looks up to meet the expectant expression of his former rival and nods his head. “It’s not too sweet, not too bitter, I like it,” The blonde takes another sip, exhaling a soft sigh of contentment through his parted lips. Despite being soaked to the bones from hours (not hours, it really has been a couple of minutes) sitting in the rain, he can feel the warmth returning. “Does it have caramel?”

A soft rumble resonates from the broader male beside him, a sound that he isn’t accustomed to when they were rivals back in Blue Lock. “You have a sharp tongue,” Barou comments, his gaze casts towards the clearing sky. “Ah.” Kunigami follows his line of vision. The clouds disperse and the sun returns, emitting a warm glow to earth. Barou moves to fold his umbrella and stands up, brushing the wetness of his pants before straightening himself into his full height. The forward turns and gives Kunigami a curt nod, “I’ll see you around.”

Kunigami nods in return and Barou reciprocates the action, turning to walk off to the direction he presumably comes from, that is until he calls out once again. Barou turns around with a quirked brow, interest crossing his expression. Sheepishly, he stands up and raises the styrofoam cup in his hands, half-finished. “...Thank you.”

He must have imagined it but did the corner of Barou’s lip quirked up into a ghost of a smile? “Anytime.” Without any further word, he nods his head in a final departing greeting before he turns and walks off. Kunigami watches his retreating form and realises that the man had left his jacket behind, still wrapped around his shoulders. But it was too late now, Barou has turned around a corner and disappears.

Perhaps it’s a promise that he will be back, whenever that is. Plus this jacket smells like caramel. 

* * *

With the rain comes the doors that banged, the wind that wanted nothing more than to announce its arrival with a soft, “I’m here.” Aside from the droplets of water from the sky, Kunigami adores the wind that comes with it. The wind greets concrete and skin just the same; its giddy currents flow through woodland canopies, unaware of how its song soothes those who can hear. Kunigami has always thought that the wind is free, chaotic, yet it has its own path even if there are infinite possible destinations. 

Kunigami envies the wind, to be able to choose freely in any direction it wishes to go; to feel free and uninterrupted, to be able to bring himself forward despite the path he chooses. The wind is air with passion, a drive that powers onwards, every direction is an option. But alas, it is not easy as a human being in such a cruel world. He has always loved the wind, who comes to him so boldly, touches his skin; in coldness, it rouses him to wakefulness, an alertness that lets him savour the moments in dryness and rain just the same. But sometimes, sometimes it brings him pain; the wind, he has no control over it because it is not his to control. He cannot grasp at all, for that it is invisible in daybreak and nightfall. 

A violent gust of wind which sweeps across the street, rattling along the housetops, and fiercely, agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggle against the darkness. He has himself wrapped in a long cloak that gleams underneath the shine of the street’s light, and as he strays up the path like a grey ghost, the wind takes hold of it and flicks it about her making it crack like a silken sail. He has forgotten where he has intended to go, now the sun has set and his mind let loose, his home is far from his position and he has nowhere else to go.

In the silence, he can hear the wind sweeping down the street, blowing against his face neither gently nor fiercely — but enough to keep him awake. Upon coming close to the display window of a shop, he pauses, faltering in his steps as he takes the sight of his own reflection in the window; he does not realise the tears that make their way down the structure of his cheekbones, down to his jaw, faint in the darkened street but still visible to the naked eye. And as silent as a ghost wandering on the line between life and death, he does not even realise the approaching figure behind him, and soon a single handkerchief is what he could see in his peripheral vision.

Kunigami startles, jumping out of his skin, and turns — the pace of how he turns worries him, how he did not get a whiplash, he doesn’t know. Barou stands there, his figure easily casting a shadow and blocking the light from the streetlamp. He almost does not recognise the other, with the way his face is shadowed by a deep silhouette, but he does anyway — the familiar expressionless facade is anything to go by. Still, he questions, “Barou?”

The named male merely grunts in response, and as silent as he comes, he moves to wipe the stained corium of his cheeks, the results of previous tears. He does not say anything and neither does Kunigami, both standing in the middle of a pathway where it is deserted, the only light illuminating the road is from the dim shine of the street light. He wonders why it is that every time he is alone and when he needs someone the most, it is always Barou to come to his rescue; like there is almost a sixth sense for his former rival. “You don’t look like you live close by,” He is not expecting the man to speak up first, breaking the silence of the air with a large knife — and there is still no emotion in either his voice nor his countenance; Kunigami finds that he doesn’t mind. “My house is nearby. Around here is not the right place to walk around when it’s nighttime; _especially_ when it’s nighttime.”

He doesn’t miss the tilt of worry in his tone when Barou speaks, for a moment he wonders why it is so — but perhaps it is only the worry with the possibility of getting harassed or worse kidnapped by an unknown assailant, never to be seen again. He is reminded that Kentarou never once is concerned for his well-being, especially when he’s returning home late in the night. “I don’t want to intrude,” is what comes out of his mouth before he can even stop it; mentally, he cringes at the lame excuse, but at the same time, it’s true.

“It’s not intruding when I offered.” Once again, Barou turns around and without another word, he steps off the curb and walks across the street. When Kunigami does not make a move to follow, he turns around and quirks a brow in question, so he has no choice but to follow. Quietly, he trails behind Barou, watching the way with each step he takes, the muscles of his back seems to shift — Kunigami wonders how strong Barou really is, outside of the court that is. He remembers what kind of monster Barou can be when he’s on the field back in Blue Lock. He is no doubt a strong man as well, and if anything goes by, his height tells the story that is far from being weak and puny; he is fit in his eyes, as well as everyone else’s, but he feels nothing compared to Barou’s physique.

He doesn’t even realise that they have reached a place when he almost bumps into a broad back, steeling himself in place with a heel grounded to the concrete in order to stop himself from embarrassing himself further. Kunigami’s gaze trails from the muscle of Barou’s back and up towards a terrace house; it looks far nicer than the place he calls home — but it’s still a nice place. “Do you live alone?” he finds himself asking as Barou fishes a set of keys from his pocket and tries to find the right one in the dim lighting. His only response is a grunt of affirmation and Kunigami does not ask anything else. 

When they enter the house, it is in complete silence — just their synchronised rhythmic breathing and the sounds of footsteps entering the fortress. The carefully chosen and tidy interior brings an elegant aura, and Kunigami decides that it truly suits Barou as a personality; elegant, bold. Royal. He toes off his shoes and carefully sets it aside on the rack by the door, ducking his head in a show of politeness as he once again trails behind the man crossing further into the threshold. There are no pictures of him and his family, but there are paintings neatly hung up on the wall and there are stories behind them; Kunigami doesn’t put a finger on what kind of story they hold and he doesn’t ask either, but he knows the conspicuous strokes of each brush across the canvas matches that of Barou’s valiant personality — like a king reigning over an empire, like a lion in its hunting territory, like lightning streaks across the sky. 

“Kunigami?” The call of his name breaks him out of his reverie, hazel hues tearing from one painting hung up in the corridor between the entrance hallway and the lounge room; of a man on a horse, a sword raised high — a triumphant warrior. Barou stands there at the bottom of the stairs, giving him an expectant look and Kunigami returns it with one of diffidence. The former does not say anything, but a ghost of a smile curves along his brims. Kunigami doesn’t point it out. “I’ll show you to your room.”

The blonde nods his head and Barou mirrors, he casts one last glance at the painting and ascends the stairs in the latter’s wake. The more he crosses further into the home of his former rival, the more he realises how simple Barou can be; the interior downstairs is just a facade, a face that Barou intends to set in his guests’ impressions — and upstairs is the complete opposite. The wallpapers in the hallway are plain clean beige, the doors mahogany, a few smaller paintings hung up here and there but that was it; nothing too extravagant like the ones downstairs. Weirdly, it’s two sides of the same coin; Barou is a man of many personalities — he just chose to show the side which holds imperturbable tranquillity and valorous personality. 

“You have a nice place,” Kunigami points out before he can bite his tongue.

Barou responds with a quiet glance, out of the corner of his eyes and Kunigami does not acknowledge it — or pretends he doesn’t; he chose to keep his eyes on the path. “I guess,” is what the taller male reacts with, just as he pushes open the door to what Kunigami assumes is the guest room. It has a simple layout, clean and tidy; it looks like he rarely ever has guests over. Something unfamiliar stirs in the pit of his stomach. “I’ll go find some clothes for you to change into.” Before the blonde can counter with a defence that he can sleep in his current clothes just fine, Barou slips out of the room as quietly as he has approached him in the first place and Kunigami is left alone in the quietness of the room.

He wanders around the room, fingers lightly brushing across the headboard of the bed before he takes a seat on the edge. He stares off at the wall opposite of him, wonders why it feels … strangely domestic; something that he never gets to experience with Kentarou during the two months that they were in a relationship. It hurts him, to still be thinking about someone who he has broken up with a long time — his friends are right, he should be moving on, that there are other people out there who can pick him back up; who can help him pick the broken pieces back up — but it isn’t easy when his mind is plagued with the thoughts of “what if”s and doubts about himself.

Before he can spiral further into the impractical thoughts, triple knocks on the doorframe bring him out, head slowly turning to face the culprit; Barou stands there, his face unreadable with a swirling emotion that he can’t put a finger on — before stepping into the room and wordlessly sets the neatly folded clothes down. “You should get some sleep,” is his parting words before he exits and closes the door behind him, quiet and careful.

Kunigami stares at the clothes handed to him, conflicted in his head before he sighs and changes out of his current outfit, no doubt his jeans are going to be uncomfortable sleeping in; the clothes given to him smells much like the sea, the bracing fresh air of the ocean as waves crash over the sand — a calming scent that pulls him into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

“What do you want to eat?” Barou asks in the morning, expectantly watching Kunigami as he pulls on his shoes, pondering over the breakfast that he craves for. When the blonde doesn’t answer verbally but instead with a confused expression, the former cracks an amused smile — small but still there. “There’s a cafe down the road, let’s go there.” He finishes his sentence with not enough room for Kunigami to object, so he’s forced to agree with the broader male, albeit reluctantly; but he’s glad Barou offered because he doesn’t know what plans he has today other than to brood over nothing. So he nods, and they set off for the little cafe down the road.

He watches on as Barou stands in the line for their orders, having to take it upon himself to invite and host for him — a former rival in Blue Lock; he sees Barou in a new light now. Calm and collected, cool, intimidating but not in the way that he had been back in Blue Lock, and, most importantly, approachable. It’s almost scary how much of a drastic change he had undergone in the past few months after they went off to their separate ways.

With a longing look, he watches on; as Barou converses with the cashier about their orders for the quietude of this morning — and watches on as the latter waits for their order to bring back to the table by the corner of the cafe, hidden away by the plants and other customers, the perfect hiding spot if one wants peace of mind. 

“Kunigami?”

Peace is damned, it has been broken the moment a familiar voice rings through the tranquillity in his mind — the familiar boyish face of his ex-boyfriend comes into view, regretful when he turns to face the source of the voice. Kunigami does not know what to think of this situation; awkward, resentful, regret, guilt — he can name others but those four are the main things that reflect their past.

He swallows, manages a wobbly smile. Unsure. “Kentarou.” He winches mentally at the stutter, the name sounds foreign yet familiar when he voices it. He doesn’t like the way it tastes on his tongue anymore. Grudging. Repentance. Guilt. Worthless. Not good enough.

…

 _Not good enough._

He shakes the thought out of his head to shut the incoming voices down from coming full force and igniting another panic attack; he doesn’t think that his heart could take any more blows against its fragile walls. “You, uh, how have you been?” Again, he flinches — this time from how lame the question sounds. 

The source of his heartbreak looks around, and smiles at an unfamiliar face — who smiles back with fondness that he recognises it as what he used to look at Kentarou with; ah, so he has moved on. Unsurprisingly. Kunigami should be happy for him, to find someone else who can fit in his place, to take care of Kentarou better than he had.

(Even though everyone knows Kunigami is so rich with love that he is not afraid to share it with those around him. Kentarou especially. But now he feels robbed.)

“Better.” Ouch. “Than ever.” Double ouch. Kunigami smiles on despite the double blow on his crumbling heart, and he nods his head. Holding back tears from spilling in public proves to be hard but he does it anyway, despite the hot trickle in the corner of his eyes, the burn of the tears as they struggle to spill out; to escape from their confinement. Weakness.

A cough interrupts them both and Kunigami silently sighs in relief when he sees Barou standing there, with a tray in his hands and his eyes narrowing in suspicion of the male standing beside their table. “Your friend?” he questions, baritone voice easily sending a shiver down the blonde’s spine. He sees Kentarou subtly squaring up but neither parties do anything to invoke violence. 

“Ah, uh, yeah,” Kunigami meekly responds. Barou looks like he doesn’t believe it but pretends he bought, brushing past the male standing to leave the tray on the table but does not make a move to sit down — the telltale image of defence; a pillar, a wall. To protect Kunigami. “Just...catching up.”

Kentarou opens his mouth to say something, the familiar flare in his eyes ignites before it dies down as quickly as it comes, shut down by the hard glare given by the forward. “Well, I gotta go,” he says instead, pushing his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans. “It’s been...good seeing you again. I hope I see you around.”

 _No_ , Kunigami thinks. _I hope I don’t see you around_ ; Barou beats him to it, “I don’t think he will be seeing you around.” He looks up in shock at the firm tone he uses, the voice he employs when he and Isagi were rivalling against each other despite being on the same team. Kentarou looks vexed, exasperated, but he doesn’t say anything above a strained smile and leaves. Then, Barou occupies the vacant seat across from him. “Are you okay?” The worry in his tone is not missed, and Kunigami nods weakly. Again, Barou doesn’t seem like he accepts his answer nor does he believe the lie, but he nods anyway as the conclusion for the topic.

Looking at the cake he had ordered, suddenly he doesn’t have the appetite anymore.

* * *

His phone pings with a notification, startling him out of his focus while preparing to start a project that needs to be finished by the end of the week — blinking in confusion as he peers at the lit-up screen, managing to get the name before his phone returns into its sleep mode. **Barou Shouei.** Kunigami’s brows furrow in confusion, quickly unlocking his phone to read the message sent by the other.

 **BAROU SHOUEI.** _  
_ _Are you free?_

The simple question sends a momentary surprise through his veins, blinking rapidly as if he is questioning the reality — oh, it’s not just a fragment of his imagination, it is actually the message that Barou had sent him. Quickly, he types out his response.

 **RENSUKE KUNIGAMI.** _  
_ _Just getting ready to do my project. Why?_

So he waits for a response. Three dots in a bubble pops up underneath his response, appearing and disappearing multiple times as if the other party is hesitant in the scribe of his text and sending it, but Kunigami doesn’t need to wait for long for his answer.

 **BAROU SHOUEI.** _  
_ _Thought we could get some ice-cream. But since you’re busy…_

Kunigami chokes on air, and rapidly types out another message:

 **RENSUKE KUNIGAMI.** _  
_ _Oh, no! I could get some break. :)_

...Even though he hasn’t even done anything nor has he started his project, but oh well, it can wait until he gets home after their hangout. 

Barou is typing another message.

 **BAROU SHOUEI.** _  
_ _Great. Meet me at the park?_

 **RENSUKE KUNIGAMI.** _  
_ _Sure!_

He doesn’t think much about it, jumps off his seat and rushes off to change.

* * *

When he steps outside of his home, he realises how warm this year’s spring is; as the blossoms fluorescence from each branch, creating a mellow atmosphere that surrounds its civilians, Kunigami walks through the street littered with colourful leaves and flowers, as they fall from their situated branch in the gentlest of caress. A sakura petal falls over him, landing on the top of his head and he does not take notice, continuing to walk downtown towards the park with a single rouge petal on the top of his head. 

A figure stands in the distance, the lone wolf he is; proud and tall, and everything about him screams superior, regal, unyielding — like the painting of the warrior he saw when he first visited his home. Barou has not acknowledged the arrival of the blonde, engrossed in whatever he is occupied with on his phone, but the moment light footsteps reach his ears, he looks up, turns his phone off and slides it into his pocket. “Hey,” he speaks in greeting and Kunigami responds with a light smile.

“Did you wait for long?” Barou responds with a shake of his head, he doesn’t look as if he has been standing there for long either — but there is something in his eyes that Kunigami cannot quite place, a lingering stare that has him tilting his head in confusion. “What is it?”

Barou reaches forward, plucking the lone petal from his head and displays the flower radiant in its rouge shade. “It’s on your head,” he says, thrusting it forward for Kunigami to take; as if trying to say something that he cannot say, at least not yet.

Obediently, Kunigami allows the petal to be dropped on his open palm, staring at it as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. A strange contrast to the pale complexion of his skin; pink against the fairness of his skin. “...Thanks,” he says, looking up at the taller male to find a gaze that similarly looks like one of fondness, but it disappears as soon as he notices it. “Let’s get ice-cream?”

There is that smile on Barou’s lips, bigger than the last time he had seen it. Kunigami does not know what to think of it, other than relishing in the way it brings out the little dimples on his face. 

* * *

During their weekly meet-up and catching up, it was Chigiri who brought up the topic, “How have you been holding up?” Kunigami does not know how to answer, pausing in the process of placing a dumpling into his mouth. Everyone at the table stops, silent and expecting his answer.

Kunigami is still trying to find a better way to put it in simply, opening his mouth and closing, but Iemon butts in before anyone could put in their opinions on the table, “I think this isn’t the right time to be talking about it. If we’re talking about _that_.” The emphasis almost has Kunigami flinching, they know what they wanted him to talk about — as much as he loves his teammates, they can be a bit too much sometimes; but he still loves them all the same.

“It’s okay, it’s just…” Kunigami pauses, every possible word that he can use flying right out of his head and he’s left empty-handed — but it’s better for him to come clean. “I have been holding on better than before,” he finalises, a wary smile crossing his brims. “I mean, I met him a couple of days ago when I was out having breakfast but other than that … not much. I’m fine. Better.”

Everyone seems satisfied with the answer, continuing on to chat amongst themselves and Kunigami is left with relief that he doesn’t have to say anything more, resuming in putting that dumpling into his mouth and chewing on the sweet taste of the meat inside, the crunchiness of vegetables that follows it. Everything is back to normal, everything is fine; but when he sees something, or rather some _one_ , in the corner of his eyes, he almost chokes on what is inside his mouth.

The table falls silent once again, Kunigami has never felt this small. Twice in a week, god really hates him to put him in such fate, huh? He squeezes his eyes shut, pretending that he’s merely enjoying the dumpling when in reality everyone knows who exactly is approaching. 

“Kunigami,” comes the voice, and he doesn’t like how the treacherous voice still sends him shivers, and he doesn’t like the way it rolls off his tongue now. “A word?”

Naruhaya is the first to stand, a glower in his expression, “No. If you want to talk to him, you talk to _us_.” Countless times, he’s glad to have a teammate like him; such passion, such determination — something that he admires of the shorter boy. Something that helps him move forward and strive in confidence; every one of his teammates has something in their personality that helps him move forward.

Their protectiveness of him ever since the day he has gotten his heart broken is not missed by those around them; every guy he talks to in their presence, there will always be an intimidating aura — watching intently, stepping in when need to be, so he isn’t that much surprised when all of them wears the same expression.

He does not need to turn to see the look of exasperation in Kentarou’s expression, or the way Bachira’s carefree smile seems to fall a little but is still put up — albeit it’s hair-raising; no one never knows what goes on his head, just know that he has a little monster in him that tells him what to do and how to act. The sigh behind him snaps him out of his momentary reverie reminiscent of their days in Blue Lock. “Come back,” is what he says and it is enough for the table to blow up.

Numerous ‘hell no!’s are repeated, the usual threat from protectiveness spews out from his friends’ mouth, the insult from Raichi which he is not surprised, and everything else that adds up to the growing headache — the pounding against his skull and the shortness of breath he starts to have; the tell-tale sign of a panic attack. Everything seems dizzy, and he’s unable to focus; from the yells from his teammates and Kentarou countering. Everything stops when a familiar baritone voice steps in. 

A voice that brings him out of those early symptoms of spiralling into the panic attack; the voice that helps him every time he has those thoughts; the voice of a man who knows when to step in at the early symptoms of a panic attack; the voice of a man he never knew he needed until now.

“ _That’s enough_.” Barou steps into view, eyes sharp with a glare — petrifying and it is enough to shut everyone up; the waitress who had tried to stop them before from causing a commotion that is no doubt pulling every patron’s attention to the group also stops, staring up at the new character that easily stops everyone from going at each other’s throat. With one final stare, Kentarou scurries out of the restaurant, leaving behind a still-silent Kunigami. “Kunigami,” he calls, and that is enough to snap him out of his daze, swallowing thickly.

The blonde looks up, glare softening into a mellow expression and he doesn’t flinch when the other raises his hand to ruffle his hair — gentle, fond. “I’m okay,” he says, his smile straining across his countenance and Barou frowns, noticing the shakiness in his voice but he lets that go. He gives the group one last glance before he takes a step back, one last glance towards Kunigami that says: ‘ _you can always call for me_ ’ and walks out of the restaurant.

“Since when are you well-acquainted with Barou?” Isagi questions, and for some reason, he’s relieved that their attention has been brought from his ex and towards his former rival; but that is also another problem that arises.

* * *

“They kept on asking about you,” Kunigami admits one day, sipping on a warm cup of hot chocolate with caramel syrup, relishing in the warmth and taste that bloom on his tongue. Barou sits across from him in the small cafe near the city square, nursing himself a scorching cup of black coffee — intently watching the blonde as he explains about the event that happens just yesterday, the incident. “I wasn’t sure how many more questions I could take because they are all asking the same questions but they worded it differently. _How did you meet? Where did you meet?_ All that stuff. _What is he to you?_ ” Barely, a chuckle resonates from the younger male before silencing himself with another sip. “It happens when you have protective friends.”

Barou is still silent, merely watching, examining him — calculating the situation before he finally speaks, “And what did you tell them?” Kunigami does not miss the fleeting confusion across sharp obsidian oculars, the little tilt of his head to the side that he finds a little adorable. 

“I told them when and where we met, at that park —,” Kunigami grimaces, both inwardly and outwardly, and by good luck earning him a light chuckle from the male across from him. He is not too fond of the memory, being caught in the rain and being a mess, offered the same hot chocolate he’s drinking. Downright embarrassing. “And that you are a friend.” _A friend_ , can Kunigami call him that? They haven’t really established what the relationship between the two of them are, but … he thinks that he can call them friends. Barou doesn’t seem to mind it at all, nonchalantly taking a sip from his own cup, finishing the last drop of coffee he’s ordered.

“Friends,” he says, a gentle dip in his voice, an emotion that Kunigami cannot put a finger on.

(At this point, he realises how many emotions that Barou wears that he cannot comprehend, no matter the number of times he had burned the image in the back of his mind.)

Barou places down the cup back on its saucer, on the table and leans back against the armchair he’s seated on — comfortable. “Yeah, friends.” Kunigami tries not to think about what the frown he’s wearing means.

* * *

The lounge room is silent, comfortably so; Kunigami is engrossed with a book while Barou is minding his business somewhere in the kitchen or the room next door. It has become a daily routine for them, to come over to each other’s house, to sit down and relax, or to unwind after a long day of college and projects, and early or late lectures.

That is until Barou decides to speak up, “Hey, Kunigami?” There is a strange dip in his voice, like he’s planning something; Kunigami doesn’t acknowledge it, instead choosing to respond with a light hum — indicating that he’s listening. “Do you mind giving me Isagi’s phone number?”

He looks up then, eyes fleeting towards the entrance of the kitchen to meet Barou’s gaze, his eyebrows creasing together. “Why?”

“To ask him about something,” is his only response, an expectant look. Kunigami is not too convinced, but he gives Barou Isagi’s phone number instead. 

* * *

Kunigami realises many things in his life — from spring, to summer, to autumn, to winter. From the mud come flowers as golden as sunshine, as fluid as rain. They come at first in ones and twos, yet soon they are the most buoyant of crowds, happily dancing in the wind — that is spring; the friendship that has bloomed between himself and Barou comes as naturally as spring, bringing a sense of renewal. The rain of spring will wash warmer over each face, a freshness to open each budding smile. In the spring there are vestiges of the cold winter, yet also the promise of warm summer days ahead.

Between the paving stones come blooms so bold and tall, giving of their aroma to the summer-infused breeze. The sky blazes blue and the sun is a celebration of yellow, free and bright — Barou himself has compared him to the sun during that one time they have decided to meet. Summer comes drifting in on a spring wind, wakening the kind of warmth that flows to the core. Through windows, she sends light, spreading rainbows over their form. Under the summer sun, he can feel the warmth of those brilliant rays, of light granting them new vibrant colours, softly brushing smiles upon faces and hearts. Perhaps the warmth comes from within just as much. He wonders how they’ll fare when summer rests in a day or two, saving energy for her next encore, perhaps they will too. 

The autumn has dressed herself for the coming season, donning her most vibrant hues. She has swept into our streets and woodlands with a humble boldness that invites the eye to see more than they otherwise might. As the leaves fall in a flurry of amber, gold, marmalade and vermillion from its deciduous trees and shrubs in which they take on, Kunigami can’t help but to imagine how ethereal it seems to be. It is the promise of the most beautiful rain, the warmest of snowflakes, folds and berry-reds under glossy water, sparkling under morning frost. It is those days before nature stands devoid of adornments and is breathtakingly beautiful just the same. He realises at this point, in the beginning of autumn, how the thoughts of him being _not good enough_ , being _worthless_ , the thoughts of Toushirou Kentarou, have started to die away. To drift away into the void and the unknown, to drift far, _far_ away from his awake thoughts. They are still there, but they have grown fainter; what is it that has caused this?

“Kunigami,” comes a voice and Kunigami does not need to turn around to see who it is — and at that moment he finally comes to the answer of his unspoken question. Barou has been that reason. 

Death is the only end of a chapter, yet it can also be a new beginning. 

* * *

Before the cold winds come to breathe our world anew, before snow makes our familiar streets a canvas for dreams, he sees each sculpted flake with eyes at rest, the chaotic dance of billions uniting over the earth. As snowflakes descend from heaven, blanketing the whole ground in a pristine white colour — his path sparkles and crunches, like sugar underfoot, and the coolness brings him right into the now, into the moment of life. Kunigami realises how the journey from the start to the end has been rough and cold, with the lingering of warmth as he huddles himself closer to that last source of heat. Though the flowers sleep and the trees show their lofty arms once more, a smile plays upon these cold lips.

“You’ll get cold,” The familiar weight of a coat placed upon his shoulders has him burying himself closer for the warmth, the lingering scent of the fresh ocean air filtering into his nose. Barou stands beside him, unwavering even in the pain of the cold biting at his exposed skin, nose painted a faint hue of pink. 

Kunigami turns then and dares to take Barou’s cold hands in his as a means to rub and blow warm air towards the pale skin. “You will too,” he says, voice soft as the softest caress of snowflakes all around them, falling and melting upon their skins. Hazel jewels stare up, meeting the obsidian oculars that never falter under any gaze, yet he can see the subtle shiver — not from the cold, but from _his_ gaze. “At least let’s share.” Kunigami removes his hands from Barou’s, shrugging off the coat and throwing it around Barou’s shoulders, prompting him to slide his arms into their respective holes before moving closer, encircling his arms around his broad waist — arms hidden underneath the oversized coat.

He never realises how warm Barou is — despite the cold facade that he seems to put up; the villainous look he seems to give to anyone that crosses his path. Yet here Barou is, his guards put down in a moment of vulnerability, both of them sharing each other’s natural warmth and the warmth provided by the wool coat. They stand in the middle of the path, in front of Kunigami’s home, huddled up in each other’s arms as snowflakes continue to descend and create an ethereal halo of white around them. 

“Barou?” he questions, voice meek. The aforementioned male merely hums in response, his arms lightly squeezing the smaller body between them. Kunigami preens into the touch, burying himself more into the warmth he provides. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t need to collaborate on what he means. By the softest of kisses placed upon the crown of his head, he knows that Barou understands. His heart soars. 

* * *

As spring rolls around the corner again, Kunigami is brought to his attention that his friends are planning something — and worse, Barou is a part of that team. He doesn’t know what to expect, what they could be possibly up to — to get Barou involved; or rather have his former team involved in one of Barou’s rare schemes. They are not the best in keeping secrets, especially Isagi. 

(Kunigami pretends he does not know that they are planning something. He pretends to turn a blind eye on their schemes. This is not the first time, and he doesn’t think this will ever be the last time either.)

So when he is told to meet them in front of the house of his ex-boyfriend, he expects nothing worse. Or better. He doesn’t know. And he still doesn’t know what they are up to. With cartons of eggs and paint sprays that are hidden and brought in the trunk of Kuon’s car, it finally clicks and all Kunigami can do is let out a short-lived laugh — which turns into a full-blown enthusiastic laugh. This is by far the best plan that they have come up with, especially when it comes to Barou being involved in this. 

He is the first to launch an egg to a window, splatters of translucent gooey liquid and yolk painting the wall that was once a beautiful shade of beige; he feels half-bad for Kentarou when he cleans all of this up, it must take quite a while when he does. But at the same time, he can’t help but to have fun with his friends, with Barou. 

“This is for Kunigami, you dumb fuck!” Raichi bellows, launching two eggs at the same time and hitting the target that is the front door, close to where Bachira and Isagi are with the paint sprays. The latter releases a faint squeak and Bachira laughs, shaking a can and starts to draw the outline of a … penis. It’s hilarious, and he should be ashamed of his friends but now he couldn’t bring himself to be mad about it when he’s having fun at the same time.

When Kunigami is finished with his set, he chooses to sit back and watch his friends go around the place to continue egging and vandalising the whole area — he tries not to think about how Gagamaru writes ‘ **WELCOME HOME, CHEATER!** ’ in big, black and bold letters on the front of the house, using his height as an advantage to reach where everyone in the neighbourhood could see. Ah, the menace that his friends are, but he loves them all the same.

Barou nudges him slightly, and Kunigami blinks — “Here.” A key is dropped on his open palm and he stares quizzically at the object. The former merely smiles, tugging Kunigami along to the car sitting in the driveway and he initiates the drag of his own key alongside the length of the car, the paint falling off and giving way to the silver base of the car. Kunigami laughs and does the same, soon his friends join them to put the cherry on top by vandalising the beautiful red Porsche.

When the adrenaline has dissipated, he leans against Barou, overlooking the poor excuse of what was once a really nice house and Kunigami releases one last laugh — “Tell me you were not the one to plan this,” he says, turning his head up from its position resting on Barou’s shoulder, and the man gives him an incredulous look, but something is off in that expression. He leans away, smacks the strong bicep and _laughs_. Raw and genuine, and loud. “You did!”

“I thought it would be nice to conclude this experience with something like this,” Barou says, looking away from the blonde and up towards the house. There is a longing look in his expression, and Kunigami reaches forward to take his hand, earning him another glance from the taller male.

A crooked smile rests upon his brims, his head tilts to the side. The words of gratitude rest easily on his tongue, but he leans forward and gently presses a light kiss on the corner of Barou’s lips — the softest of kisses, just like the way spring comes in a gentle breeze. “Thank you,” he says, finally.

Barou does not say anything, leans forward and catches his lips in a proper kiss, and Kunigami does not make a move to object. Instead, he leans forward. As spring blooms around the corner, so does his relationship with Barou. 

**Author's Note:**

> did anyone order a rare ship that probably only 5 people know about
> 
> i got the inspiration from novacchi on twt/LadyMarshmallow on ao3 and we're just here vibing 
> 
> anyway barou has had feelings for kunigami since blue lock and kunigami is oblivious to the fact that he does. can you imagine how exasperated barou is on the inside? 
> 
> twitter: @shinezugawa


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